


Ring Around the Roses

by Katreal



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alpha Session, Gen, POV Second Person, Pre-Sburb (Homestuck), Robots, What do you even tag these things?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-25 15:08:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30090987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katreal/pseuds/Katreal
Summary: It turns out that Jane's 15th Birthday Present isquitethe handful. Is he a Guardian, as her friend intended, or merely the most rascally of robotic rabbits?Written for the 'Robots of Homestuck' Zine.
Relationships: Jane Crocker & Lil Sebastian
Kudos: 9





	Ring Around the Roses

A young woman stands alone--no, not quite alone--in the living room. She has never truly been alone here. The benevolent face of her poppop watches over her from his customary place in front of the fire, as he has done every day to the day, for sixteen years, since she came into this world. However, on this day, the day immediately following her fifteenth birthday, this young woman can’t help but wonder if there was an extra twinkle in the glass eyes, or a slightly different curl to his preserved lips, as he looks over the carnage unfurling before him. Your poppop’s love for chaos and japes is legendary, passed down to you through the verbal histories since you were small enough to sit starry eyed on your father’s knee.

Your name, in this time before a story we all know, is Jane Crocker, and you can only be desperately grateful that your father is out at this very moment while you make your best efforts to sternly handle the whirlwind of mechanical energy you’ve suddenly become the custodian of.

“Huggy Bear--Lil’ Sebastian!” You rock back off your ineffectual tiptoes--curse your short stature!--and plant your hands firmly on your hips and channel the full force of your encounters with your father’s stern fatherly disapproval onto the metallic troublemaker hanging off the ceiling fan. “You get yourself down from there this instant!!”

This scene is made all the more ridiculous by the fact that you are still standing on the _couch_ while you do this. You’d needed the extra feet to even put you in range, and even _that_ wasn’t good enough.

Red glass glints in the light of the room as the pointed shades turn toward you, admirably flexible--and adorable! can’t forget that--rabbit ears twitching to give the indication of attention in your direction.

“I mean it mister!” Good, now that you have his attention, maybe if you make it authoritative enough he’ll respond? Dirk told you he _should_ respond to commands! Just that he was a little...overzealous. This’ll teach you not to complain about dusting the ceiling fan. “I do not need protection from an overeager spider army, I promise! Good heavens, I’d feel infinitely better about this whole thing if you’d just come dow--oof!”

The ball of metal and stable uranium hits you straight in the chest, the result of a running leap the little hellion used to dive straight off the quivering blade of the fan. Your admirable reflexes--honed through years of pantry based strifing with your father--cause your arms to snap up and around the squirming rascal, although you’re positive the reason he isn’t bouncing off the cushion next to you is because he’s clinging to you like a monkey. You rock back and barely catch yourself from falling over by bracing against the couch and letting your legs fold beneath you. 

The squirming bunny bot--no bigger than a plush toy, but a multitude times more heavy despite Dirk’s assurances that he put every ounce of his not inconsiderable engineering skill into optimizing the weight to durability ratio--detaches himself from your shirt and drops into your lap, peering up at you through the expressionless red shades, ears forward and quivering and awaiting your next order. 

“Oh thank goodness. You gave me quite the scare! If you keep this up I fear you’ll spook me into an early grave and then where would we be? It’d be hard for you to protect me if I’m already a ghost!” You wad up the corner of your white tee-shirt and attempt to buff the smeared dust off the robot’s impassive face, only to have him continue to squirm away from your ministrations, “Oh hold still you silly little thing, you’re positively filthy. I swear I haven’t done a proper dusting up there in _years_ and you just stirred it all up!”

Lil’ Seb doesn’t respond, of course, other than a wiggle of his adorable ears and a notable stillness of the rest of his body as you diligently try to erase the signs of the ill fated jaunt up into the rafters. It doesn’t last long, and the moment you drop your hand he’s sliding off your lap and onto the floor, bouncing up onto his little metal paws. He takes a step and then pauses, glancing back in your direction and then back towards the room with your father’s statuettes and Poppop’s silent figure.

“...alright.” You sigh, “You can explore, but _please_ stay on the ground. And remember!” The bot pauses in the few steps he’s already started to take, “No swords!”

Not unless you’re actually in danger, of course. If it weren’t for the very real assassination attempts you’ve lived through you’d need to have a word with your friend about arming your _birthday present._ You were worried he’d break the fan up there, waving that thing around at imaginary spiders!

He bolts off, and in the distance you like to think you would be hearing mischievous laughter. 

You rearrange yourself into a more comfortable position on the couch and supervise while Lil’ Sebastian begins his rounds, poking around the room. You suppose it’s part n parcel of the bodyguard protocols Dirk programmed into him, but you can’t help but see a well of _curiosity_ in each of the careful movements. Checking the door. Squeezing behind the curio cabinet in the corner. Shimmying up the fireplace behind Poppop--although that did earn you a guilty glance because it’s technically not _on the ground,_ but you decide to let it slide until you spot him trying to climb up the chimney!

“Oh for goodness sakes--I _understand_ you want to be thorough but this is ridiculous! I swear a troll isn’t going to pop out of the fireplace to attack me!” You push yourself up out of the perfectly comfortable indentation and arm yourself with your trusty Crockercorp branded spoon. “I swear, _you’re_ going to be the death of me!”

You have a...very...active afternoon babysitting your new companion. More than a few times you’ll catch the tell-tale glance in your direction before the robo-rabbit dashes into some mischief. As if he _knows_ you wouldn’t approve but he does it anyway! So you diligently chase the rascal, spoon in hand. Even if you find yourself laughing more than you do scowling.

You describe it to your father over dinner, keeping a wary eye as Lil’ Sebastian makes his way through the kitchen as if it’s an entirely new biome to explore. You’d worried about explaining the presence of a robot rabbit in the house, but he seems more than amenable when you explain the purpose of the gift.

Dad always put your safety first. He asked if you trusted your friend, and then accepted when you immediately said yes.

“Perhaps I should dig out the child proofing materials. It’s almost nostalgic.” Your father’s remarks linger even after the dishes have been washed and put away and he vanishes into the home office to do...work things. “You were such a curious child in your time as well, Jane.”

A curious child. 

Seb is sitting on your Poppop’s shoulder, little metal legs kicking carefree in the air. The newly lit fire reflecting on the metal of his outline.

“You really are just a kid, aren’t you?”

The ears twitch, going to attention in a way that you know means he’s listening to you.

Perhaps it’s all just in your head. Dirk would likely tell you that. That you’re just attributing familiar behaviors and seeing intentionality when there is a much simpler explanation. Patrolling. Guarding. Threat assessments.

But when you pat the sofa next to you and Lil’Seb vanishes from his perch in a blur, only to pop back into view again next to your hand, you can’t help but wonder if it matters.

Perhaps it’s easiest to protect you when he’s at your side, but when the lil’ bot slips into standby curled into your lap you can’t help the soft smile.

You could imagine it. You really could. He’s perhaps a tad too small, but beneath the metallic casing and behind those shades you think you could see the sleeping face of a little boy. Grey rabbit-eared hoodie. Would it have a tail? Yes, you think so. A tiny grey pompom sewn onto the back.

A fist curled in yours. 

Can’t forget the ridiculous blue hat on his chest.

He’d have your friend’s face, you think. At least a little bit. Dirk really should take some responsibility for this whole situation. You take the mental image you have of Dirk’s terrible selfies and age them down. Definitely keep those ridiculous glasses, just give him beautifully expressive eyes behind them.

It’s an adorable image, but when you brush a fringe of ashen hair away from the sleeping face, you only feel cold metal. The dim light behind the shades strengthens as a curious boy tries to figure out what you’re doing.

“Sorry! Don’t mind silly ol’ me. You’re just too cute like that!”

If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he puffed up in response. Honest to god preening. It makes you laugh.

Perhaps you’re his assignment, but there’s nothing wrong with you deciding that he’s yours as well.

You always wanted a younger brother.

You remind yourself of that thought when you have to head him off from a rather _expensive_ looking vase of flowers your dad brings home from the office the next day. A gift from your company, of course. Belatedly honoring your birthday. Brilliant Crocker-red roses, sparkling, enticing, begging you to come over and sniff. Alluring. A gift, for your continued health.

They’re gone the next day.The brother in your heart just gives you an innocent smile. Like someone who raided the _entire_ cookie jar. Crumbs stuck to puffed up cheeks, evident in the way he dances over the remnants of red flowers crumbled beneath energetic feet before zipping away. 

You sigh, and don’t wonder why your Dad never asks what happened to it. The broken porcelain just gets quietly swept up with the trash, taking any evidence with it.

**Author's Note:**

> This was one of two pieces written for the ['Robots of Homestuck' Zine](https://robotsofhszine.tumblr.com/post/645813885941743616/after-some-long-wait-with-troubled-maintenance)! Please do check it out, as there is a companion art piece to go along with it!
> 
> The second one features Rosebot and can be found on my profile.


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